


Iron Beta: Origins

by IronSparrow99



Series: The Iron Beta Series [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (for once), Clint Barton & Taylor Stark friendship, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Mentor/Protégé, She's kinda everyone's student at once, Tony Stark had a daughter, Unrequited Crush, although good is kinda relative? idk, bear with me guys, but it develops, give it a chance, good parenting, it's an old fic, please, yes it's another Tony-daughter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-10 22:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronSparrow99/pseuds/IronSparrow99
Summary: Taylor Stark knows danger well. She grew up around sharp things, things that explode, and the Stark Industries Board of Directors. She is no stranger to danger - but then again, she's never faced a danger like this before.A darkness is preparing to overtake everything she knows. Taylor - and her team - are the only ones that can possibly stop it. But it's never that easy - along the way, she has to prove to herself, and the world, that she can be a hero; all while fending off bothersome crushes, overprotective fathers, and giant alien monsters.Can she do it? Possibly. Is she ready? Not in the slightest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys - it's me again. 
> 
> Fair warning before you read this - it's OLD. It was my first fic; not on here, but on fanfic.net. It's over two and a half years old at this point. I'm trying to edit it as best I can, but it might still be a little shaky. The writing gets better as the series progresses, I promise. Just hang in there. And tell me what you think!

_Who will indeed lead the call for America?_

_Carry the flag shore to shore for America?_

_Who’s here to prove that we can?_

_The Star-Spangled Man with-_

_SMACK!_

“Jarvis? Has Dad been messing with my alarm again? Because I was set to wake up to Black Sabbath, and that was not Black Sabbath.”

 _“Good morning Ms. Stark. I am not at liberty to divulge such information,_ “ Jarvis informs me as I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

“Of course, Jarvis.” I sigh, then grumble “If anybody could make a sassy AI, it would be my dad, wouldn’t it?”

“You bet it would.” I glance up from my seat on my bed to see my father, the one, and only, Tony Stark leaning against my doorframe.

“Nice song choice,” I quip. “I didn’t realize you hated my choice in music.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he returns, an innocent look on his face.

He wasn’t fooling anyone, let alone me. “Yeah, right.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” I snort. “Did you want something, or did you just randomly decide to pop into my room?”

“I’ve been asked to tell you breakfast is ready and waiting,” he tells me. “Clint says he’ll eat your pancakes if you don’t.”

“Like hell he will,” I mutter, sitting up and stretching my back. “Gimme a chance to get dressed.”

Once he leaves, I throw on a pair of black fuzzy sweats and an Iron Man t-shirt and make my way to the team common area, where I am greeted by the rest of the Avengers and the smell of sizzling bacon. My dad slides a plate in front of me while I grab a glass of orange juice.

“So who cooked breakfast? I need to know whether or not it’s edible,” I ask the table at large.

My dad manages to look mildly offended. “Ha, ha, Taylor. My cooking is not _that_ bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Bruce points out. “Your last attempt at omelets had Natasha running for the bathroom, and she’s got a stomach of steel.”

This gets vague nods of agreement from the entire team, except for said red-haired assassin.

“We agreed never to speak of that,” she snaps. “Just be quiet and eat your breakfast, both of you. Fury is coming by later – new evil aliens or robots or something might be on the horizon. He didn’t give many details.”

This brings groans from the rest of the table, myself included.

“What does Eyepatch want now? I mean, seriously, how many evil-psychotic-alien-people are out there? Do they have nothing better to do than try and take over the world?”

“Too many, and it looks like no,” Clint replies dryly. “But Loki was only the start. He’s sort of like a Pied Piper now because extraterrestrial psychopaths seem to be coming out of the woodwork.”

“Never let it be said that my job is easy,” I sigh as hop off my seat and set my dishes in the sink. “I’ll be in the lab, should anyone need me. I’ve got work to do, should there be another invasion.”

I make my way down stairs, entering the R&D floors and tracing a path towards the main lab, swiping my key card and hitting the lights.

My shoulders automatically relax as I step into my sanctuary, otherwise known as the lab I share with my dad. “Jarvis, pull out Beta I. And put on some music.”

AC/DC pours from the speakers as I make myself comfortable at one of the workstations and immerse myself in my suit. My suit looks just like my dad’s, except for the fact that mine is shorter, a little more feminine, and black and purple instead of red and gold. I’m Iron Beta, because Beta is the second letter of the Greek alphabet and I’m the second Stark, so my suit is named Beta I. I only have one so far, compared to my dad’s thirty-some masterpieces.

“Jarvis, what do I need to be combat ready as soon as possible?” I ask the AI as I pull up my maintenance logs.

 _“It seems, ma’am, that your chest plate armor needs reinforcing, your thigh and shoulder missiles need to be installed, and your face plate is loose,”_ Jarvis dutifully reports.

“Ok, J. Warn me if someone comes in, I’d rather not cause any mishaps.”

* * *

Sometime later, I'm shaken out of my engineering daze by my dad ever-so-subtly barging in, not even giving Jarvis time to warn me, and announcing that Director Nick Fury had arrived on premises.

“Alright…just give me a second,” I mutter, eventually tearing myself away from my suit, which was now splayed across my work table. After doing a quick once-over for appearance, I follow my dad out the door.

 _What was I walking into now?_ I idly wonder as we step into the elevator. _Mutants? Aliens? Alien mutants? Another psychopath? Please don’t let it be another psychopath._

I shake my head to clear it as we emerge into the living room again, where the team was waiting with a man in a long black coat.

“Director,” I greet evenly.

“Miss Stark,” he returns in the same tone. “Please sit, we have important matters to discuss.”

I nod and plop down between my dad and Clint.

“I’ve gathered you all here today because a new set of neighbors from outer space has decided they don’t like us,” Fury begins.

“You don’t say,” I mutter under my breath. Fury either doesn’t hear or ignores me, because he continues as though I hadn’t spoken.”

“We need you seven to figure out who they are, where they came from, and send them back to wherever that is. Avengers Tower will be base of operations-”

“ _Hold_ on a second, eye patch-”

“Wait-”

 “-with Agents Romanoff and Barton giving the necessary reports back to SHIELD.” If there was a gold medal for ignoring interruptions, Fury would probably have it by now. “Here are the files containing all known information on these aliens. Questions?”

I put my hand up, leaning forward slightly.

“Stark – the younger one?”

“Do you want me on the field?” I ask bluntly. “It sounds like you need all the help you can get, Director, and I _really_ don’t want to be benched again.”

“You will be fully active here, Miss Stark,” he assures me. “I trust in your abilities…unless I have a reason not to?”

“No,” I shake my head, fighting to keep the grin off my face. “I’ll be ready.”

“Good. Avengers dismissed.”

With that and a swish of his cape, he walks out of the room.

“So…thoughts, anyone?” Steve is the first to speak up after the _ever_ -so-dramatic exit of Director Eyepatch.

“Thoughts?” Dad raises his eyebrows incredulously. “Yes, Spangles, I have many. Relating to this mission however: a) they aren’t giving us much to go on, basically just ‘hey guys, aliens are invading, and we don’t know when, how, where, or even _what_ exactly, but you guys fight it!’, and b) we need to know what to do, what modifications to make, in order to fight them to the best of our capabilities.”

Steve nods in agreement, then turns to the team spies. “Natasha, Clint, you think you could find us more, anything else at all, on what we’re dealing with here?”

“We can try, Rogers,” Clint replies doubtfully, “but given Nat and I’s clearance, there isn’t much Fury knows that we don’t.”

“Hey, guys, just know if the legal approach doesn’t work, you _do_ have the world’s best hackers sitting right here,” Dad pipes up helpfully, gesturing between him and I.

“Tony, let’s save that as a last resort. Besides,” Bruce adds, ”we can go over what we _do_ have and work as far as we can with that. We’ve done that thousands of times before.”

Steve nods his agreement. “Right, so we have the fact that we are fighting aliens…again. So, that might mean space travel.”

Which would mean special suit upgrades.

“So, basically prepare for the worst, say, another Loki,” Dad surmises, and everyone visibly shudders here, “because better safe than sorry.”

“Now that that’s decided,” I stand up and brush imaginary dirt off my jeans. “I’ve got _even more_ work to do.”

“I’m coming with you, hold on,” Dad calls, and I can hear him jogging after me as I leave the room.

“So, what are you thinking?” he asks as we enter the lab again. I watch as he settles in at his own work table. “I was thinking all-around protection. Up everything.”

“Yeah, but keep mine light, please. I’m smaller than you, no matter how much muscle I may build up,” I point out.

The lab goes quiet for a minute, except for the sound of clanking metal, until Dad speaks up again.

“By the way, I know I don’t say this often, but I’m proud of you.”

“Um...thanks?” I blink and twist around to face him. “What brought this on?”

“This is your first non-sideline mission,” he explains. “I mean, sure, it might be a little big for a fifteen-year-old to handle, but you can do it. You’re brilliant – I created you, I should know.”

And - just like that - the moment was ruined.

“Thanks,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine,” I assure him walk over to my suit, still in the same place I left it earlier. I took a moment to be really glad I had started my work early.

“Jarvis, pull up Mark XXXII’s heat shield levels,” Dad commands, all-business.

“And do the same for Beta I,” I add.

With that, we fade into or familiar working pattern: tools clanging, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, and the occasional Twisted Sister pouring from the speakers, only punctuated with the sporadic “Hey, hand me that…” or “what if we did..”, and I positively loved it.

I take this opportunity to explore my own thoughts about this whole new maybe-alien-war thing going on.

 _My first real mission._ That hasn’t even sunk in fully yet. This is what’ll get Iron Beta, not Taylor Stark, onto the front page. I’ll finally be in the heat of battle, not just manning communications or playing injured-member retrieval like I had before.

 _But,_ a little voice in my head counters, _you’ll also see the death, the blood, and the grief, not to mention the pain._

 _No. I’ll be_ fine. _My dad survived three months with terrorists in Afghanistan, and look how he turned out._

_That is EXACTLY my point, he didn’t-_

Great, now I was arguing with myself. I was off to a _great_ start.

“Taylor? Taylor!”

I blink and look up to see Natasha standing over my table. “When did you get here?”

“About five minutes ago, and I’ve been calling your name the entire time,” she replies. “You’re needed upstairs.”

“Why?” Dad asks from halfway across the room. “We’re busy.”

“And we found more information on what we could be facing,” Natasha challenges. “But Bruce says you need to eat before we tell you.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” I whine. “I’m busy.”

Natasha just looks at me for a moment before shrugging and saying, “Doctor’s orders. If you want to make him mad, be my guest.”

She turns around and leaves the lab – probably knowing that we followed, however reluctantly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: if you recognize it, I don't own it. 
> 
> The Doctor Who references in this chapter - and the entire book - were originally unintentional. I don't watch it - sorry, Whovians. But then I decided to make it sound intentional. You'll see what I mean.

“Friends Stark! Come join us in our feast of knowledge!” Thor bellowed across the room as soon as Dad and I crossed the threshold.

Note to self: if the loud, excitable god says you should go join the rest of your team on the couch, you go join the rest of your team on the couch.

“Feast of knowledge, huh?” I snort. “So, what’s new in alien-invasion land?”

Steve just barely bites back a smile as he replies.

“Okay, so we have a name and a purpose to work with. They’re called Zygones, and they are under the command of someone called the Master – connection to Loki possible, but unconfirmed as of yet."

“Great,” I groan. “We’ve gotta fight an alien that _might_ also be a god but is _definitely_ a Doctor Who fan.”

“You’re a Doctor Who fan,” Dad points out.

“I’m also not an alien or a god _or_ intent on taking over Earth,” I argue.

"Anybody have a location?” Natasha asks, interrupting Dad and I before we can go completely off-topic. “We still can't fight them effectively if we don't know the battlefield."

It's Clint who replies, only after running a hand through his hair and sighing. "Nothing yet. We're going to have to go with the 'hope for the best, prepare for worst, and expect everything else along the way' strategy here."

"I wish I could give you guys more here,” Steve admits, slumping his shoulders. “I don't like leading men to battle blind." His face shows he looks and feels horrible.

I stand as he does, and he paces while I try to calm his nerves.

"Steve, hey, calm down. Have you completely forgotten your starting lineup here?” I try. “Not one, not two, but _three_ of the absolute smartest people on Earth, two master spies, one demigod, and not to mention you, super soldier extraordinaire, all of which will stop at nothing to keep Earth in the right hands. We've all been doing the impossible for a very long time, and we won't stop now."

Steve stops the pattern he's been on the entirety of my little speech to turn and smile gratefully at me, cutting me off before I could really get going.

"Yeah. I – sorry, guys. Thanks, Taylor. Alright team, status reports!” he calls, instantly getting back to business. “Starks, how are the suits coming?”

“Combat ready,” Dad reports, also in business mode _._ “We’re just adding bells and whistles, but we’d be ready to fly at the moment.”

“Good. Taylor, is Iron Beta 100% ready?”

“120% ready,” I promise. “I won't let you down.”

“I know. Alright guys, dismissed. Agents, you might want to report this in.” Steve calls over his shoulder as he retreats from the room.

After he leaves, I turn to the others.

“Anyone up for a movie?”

“I’ll get the popcorn.”

* * *

 

We were halfway through _Footloose_ when the alarm sounds.

“Jarvis? What’s going on?” Clint demands, jumping to his feet

“ _There seems to be missile, not of Earth’s origin, heading for the 5 th floor, ETA ten minutes._”

My dad’s face pales as he just barely manages to bite back a curse, for the sole reason of being on my feet next to him.

“Stark? Remember how you said the suits would fly right now?”

I can’t hear my dad’s answer – I’m guessing it’s bitten and harsh – but I can hear Steve’s follow-up reply.

“Because you need to _right now._ ”

With that, I break off in a flat-out sprint towards my room.

I practically jump into the spandex undersuit before I’m running once more, this time out to the landing platform where my dad is in his suit and ready for takeoff.

I wait till my suit fully encompasses me and my HUD lights up until I start asking questions.

“ETA?”

_“Six minutes. We’re running interception. Like I did in Manhattan.”_ my dad replies over the sound of his boosters lifting him off the platform and mine following suit.

“No reminders of Manhattan right now. I’m glad I was benched,” I grumble.

The comms are silent for the rest of the flight until somewhere on East Seventy-second street, where the real action begins.

_“Okay, we’re close enough to engage now. I’ll go low and left, you go up and right. When you get close enough, start pushing northeast as fast as you can. We need to get this over water.”_

I can only nod, I don’t trust my voice not to shake like a sapling in a hurricane.

I follow my planned flight path as I swing wide and low, rising above the missile, slightly to the right. Adjusting my thrusters ever so slightly, I get closer, closer, closer…

_Contact!_ My dad’s gauntlets land on the missile almost simultaneous to mine, and all power is suddenly concentrated to our feet and we turn the missile away from innocent lives.

“How long till detonation?” I ask anxiously.

_“Jarvis says just under five minutes,”_ Dad reports. _“We’re close to water, but if we don’t get there in time, I need you to-”_

“I’m not leaving, _”_ I cut him off harshly as I put every last bit of power into my thrusters. _”_ Besides, I can see the water, on your 1 o’clock.”

We speed up even more for the home stretch, just a little farther…one more push….

_“We’re good! Fly away, fly away NOW!”_

I let go of the missile as I do a backflip, changing direction in mid-air, and rocket the other way.

_“Ma’am, sir, you have approximately one minute remaining.”_

_“Yes, thank you, Jarvis. Taylor-”_

My dad is cut off by an explosion tearing the sky apart.

The shockwave sends me reeling, even after I stop physically tumbling.

My mind is still lagging, and only two thoughts filter through my brain:

One: _that was a huge explosion._

Two: _something big just started. And nothing will ever be the same._

* * *

As soon as my feet are safely back on the landing platform, I’m bombarded with worried Avengers and all the accompanying questions.

"I'm okay! I swear – yes, Cap, I – no, Bruce, I didn't – well excuse me! I-"

"Jeez, guys, let her breathe." My dad says, landing with a chuckle behind me. "And I'm alive, by the way, thanks for asking. Really feeling the love."

"Admit it, Stark," Natasha snorts, "You’d do the same in our position."

"Touché." My dad just shrugs, both affirming Natasha's suspicions and giving the disassembly bots, currently removing his shoulder plates, more room to work.

Once both of our suits are off and safely stored away, we follow the team inside, only to be greeted by one angry pirate of a Director.

_Twice in one day? How bad is our luck?_

My dad huffs in annoyance, and I keep my thoughts to myself for once.

"Hello Director,” Natasha greets politely. “Anything we can help you with?"

"'Cause, if you haven't noticed," my dad grumbles under his breath, "we're kinda – ow!"

I retract my still-booted foot from where it had just made contact with my dad's shin, never once taking my eyes of the Director.

"If you're quite done, Stark, maybe one of you would like to explain what the _hell_ that stunt with missile was?!" Fury demands.

Thankfully, Bruce interjects before any comments can be made about the 'stunt' comment – _not a stunt, heroism, thank you very much._

"I've been running some tests based on the video feed and size reading Jarvis collected while the alarms were going off, and it's not of Earthly origin, sir.”

_Meaning it's not a Stark weapon,_ I realize as I release a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. _Thank God._

“So you’re saying, Doctor Banner, that that was a _Zygone_ weapon pointed at the headquarters of the Avengers?”

Bruce swallows and his eyes darken before replying, “Yes, Director.”

“Well, then,” Fury turns his attention back to the rest of us, “You all know the drill. Complete combat readiness, 24/7. Sleep with your weapons. SHIELD is working on the next pinpointed location, we’ll fly you out ASAP. Prepare yourselves for war.”

Cue yet another dramatic exit.

I turn back to the team, my expression probably a mirror of the shock evident on every face in the room – sans Natasha and Clint – and give a weary sigh.

“I don’t know about you guys, but my first order of business is a long, hot, shower,” I announce. “Then a nap. Don’t wake me up unless there’s another explosive headed our way.”

Nobody justifies that with a reply as I walk down the hall towards my room, probably because they’re thinking the same thing.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m sitting on my bed, muscles loosened, once again wearing yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, this one depicting an old band of some sort. I am, however, taking Fury’s advice to heart, because I’m holding a four-inch-long, polished silver, black-and-pearl hilted dagger. Never let it be said I don’t follow orders.

_“Miss Stark, your father says to pack your bags and meet him and the others on the roof, Fury has found the next location and you depart by jet in ten minutes,”_ Jarvis tells me, interrupting my thoughts.

I jump up instantly, running around gathering clothes as I reply to the AI.

“Of course, Jarvis. Can you condense the suit to pack form and have it waiting downstairs?”

I end up picking out a t-shirt and semi-comfy pair of pants. Once I add a gun a knife, I’m dashing for the elevator.

I step out onto the topmost floor to see everyone in gear and ready to go and Natasha and Steve – not Clint – in the jet and already looking impatient.

I pick up my pack and hoist it onto my shoulders, waiting to secure all the other straps until we’re on the plane because I’m going to take it right back off anyway.

The jet’s boosters drown out any conversation to be had, so everyone is silent until we board.

Once on board and in the air, Bruce plants himself in a corner with his research and noise-canceling headphones. My dad shoots me an anxious glance, to which I reassure him I’ll be fine before he too buries himself in research, and Thor is nowhere to be seen, leaving only Clint and I to interact between ourselves.

I’ll admit this makes me a little uncomfortable, for reasons I really don’t know.

“So, uh, where are we headed?”

“Paris.”

“Ah…I’ve always wanted to go there, but not like this.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna stick to one-word answers this entire conversation?”

“I’ll try.”

I huff and redirect the conversation, because that train wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“Hey, when we get back, can you teach me how to shoot?” I ask cautiously. “I’ve got close range covered,” I nod to my dagger, “but I need long range, and guns aren’t my thing. Oh, and I should get combat training too, but I can ask Natasha if you-”

My words are cut off by a calloused hand suddenly blanketing my mouth, my eyes widen at Clint with my _‘what the hell?’_ face on.

“Sorry, but you were rambling,” he explains bluntly as he draws his hand back.

“To answer your question, yes I can teach you how to shoot, and I can teach you hand-to-hand combat as well, I’m less of a challenge than Natasha.”

“Thank you so much! I–”

_“Attention all passengers,”_ Natasha’s voice echoes out of the speakers, _“We will be landing in about two minutes, please secure all belongings and buckle in if turbulence bothers you.”_

Seeing as an aversion to turbulence would make my job impossible, I stand and lift my pack once again, this time securing it over my shoulders, buckling it across my chest and stomach, and adjusting all straps to make sure my suit is safe.

I then watch as last-minute papers are gathered and bow cases shut, bracing myself against the slight jolt of hitting the ground.

Soon we taxi in and eventually stop, and we all stand as the ramp lowers.

The streets of Paris await.


End file.
